


Lightbringer

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 12:46:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18828952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: One last go-round for this 'ship!





	Lightbringer

**Author's Note:**

> A final hurrah.
> 
> Hope you guys are getting by, here's a bittersweet ending for you!

“Kinslayer.”  She whispers the word, each syllable burning his ear like dragon fire.

His blade has pierced her heart, and realization is hot and bitter on his tongue that the only part of his lost, secret heritage is dying in his arms, by his hand.

Jon has tried so hard to forget, after all, that it can be hard to remember.

“Murderer.”  He draws back at this, as stunned by the accusation itself as he is the sorrow in her voice.

He expects her to hate him, but there is only pain in her eyes.  Blood pools underneath her even as her hand grabs his, pulls it from his dagger only to place it on her stomach.

“Murderer.”  She repeats the word with her dying breath, and he is lost.  This is his death, as well, and there is no love left to him any longer.

One day he thinks he will be grateful that his hope and joy have died with her.

Life is easier lived with no expectation of happiness.

\---------

Things get far worse than he ever expects.

Bran orders him to lash his dead Queen to her dragon, assuring him he controls the beast.

He wishes the dragon would end his suffering, but it only stares at him with his brother’s dead eyes.

Jon ties her hands to sharp, curved horns, and tries to forget what it felt like to fly.

His weeping matters to none of them, and they do not mourn her, but they did not know her.

Not like he has.

Drogon is gone before he can say a final farewell, and Jon is glad he makes it behind a pile of rubble before he is sick.

\---------

They are angry with him, all of them, and for the first time since killing her Jon feels something.

It makes him happy, to frustrate them.

They played their games, and Dany had been right, but they were all realizing how very wrong they had been.

_Do not think of her._

He finally understands that it is not him they care for, even those who call themselves his family.  It is his claim they covet, and in their blindness to depose this Mad Queen they had all made the very same fatal blunder.

They expected him to participate.

“Jon, you must.  It is your duty.”  Sansa has no pity for him or the love he has lost.  She never did, he knows that now.  She is more like Cersei than she knows, more like Littlefinger and Varys and all the rest.  When he looks at her, now, he only sees her mother.

“I won’t.”  He does not bother looking at her as he replies.

It doesn’t matter what he says, now.  They continue on either way, still thinking he will play the puppet and let them pull his strings.

He will cut them, instead.

\-----------

He leaves in the night, and he does not say goodbye.

\-----------

The dreams begin six moons later, and they begin a relentless assault on all that he is.

With each night his soul feels as though it fractures, here in the True North beyond the Wall.

He cannot find Ghost, or Tormund, but he thinks it is for the best.

Jon kills what he loves, and he always has.

Here, alone, he cannot harm anyone.

But every night his heart blazes to life as he sleeps, images of what he might have had, choices he might have made taking the shape of a tiny babe with silver hair.

He dreams of the things he will never have, and it occurs to him that he is going mad.

After a year passes he is certain of it, because the babe grows as time passes, and it is a girl, and it has his eyes.

Jon knows this is the babe he made, and finally the hatred he feels for himself grows so great he knows he must act or die.

\-----------

He thought he would feel a greater sense of loss, watching Westeros fade into the distance, but he does not.

Jon does not feel things anymore.

Not while he is awake.

Being on this ship only reminds him of her, and the six month passage drives him closer to the edge of sanity than he thinks he can bear.

It is as he is walking away from the docks, turning in a slow circle, that a stray thought flits through his mind.

_This is Volantis, and he will never leave this place._

His feet are moving though he does not know where is he going, but his destination is clear within seconds.

A temple sits at the heart of this port city, meant for those who serve the Lord of Light.

He hopes, at last, this God will take back his cursed gift and grant him the death he seeks.

He is wrong, though.

Very wrong.

\-----------

They take his clothing, force him into hot baths as they scrub away the layers of madness and despair from his skin.

They are preparing him, and if it is a sacrifice they mean to make he welcomes it.

He thinks they will bleed him with the force of their hands on his flesh, but instead he finds, as he dries himself, he finally feels clean.

They are working magic on him, these priestesses, but he does not care.

There is no more hurt to be done to him that he has not done to himself.

He is given plain red robes, and led to the heart of this structure, waiting for a dread to build that does not come.

But then, he sees her, and the force of it takes the strength from his knees.

He cannot look at her, and he is surprised by the ragged sobs that issue from deep in his chest.

“Dany,” he moans, hands covering his eyes.

Her fingers are hot on his chin as she stands before him, but there is a gentleness he does not deserve there as well.

“Rise, Aegon.”

He wants many things, then, but all he can do is meet her eyes.

There is a pounding, in his chest, that he has not felt since he last looked upon her face, and it is only now he realizes what was true all along: he has never felt more alive than when he is with her.

He wants her anger.

He wants her rage.

He wants to take it all back, but he cannot.  They had made their choices, each of them, and there were consequences to be dealt with.

Daenerys Stormborn gives him none of those things.

He does not know if that is who she is anymore.

He does not know who he is anymore, either.

“Come, and see what we have wrought together.”  Her grip is gentle, but firm, and he will follow.

After all he has done to her, all he has cost her, he thinks the sight of her, the feel of her skin on his would be easier to bear if only she hated him.

After all she has done, after all he has done, he wonders why they do not have the dignity to remain dead like everyone else.

He learns soon enough.

\-----------

Those who serve the Lord of Light tell him more than he ever wanted to know.

He learns it was Bran who sent Drogon to Volantis.

He learns it was Bran who sent Drogon to destroy King’s Landing.

He learns that Bran has not existed for some time, and the thing that wears his face has been quite meddlesome, indeed.

And when he asks why, no matter the revelation, the answer remains the same:  it was meant to be.

When he asks why, he sees the babe from his dreams, and he begins to understand.

When the Lord of Light brought back his Queen, he did not bring her back alone.

“The Princess that was Promised,” they call her, and though she has just passed her second year she stares at him with an intensity that makes him uncomfortable.

She is different, this silver girl with his eyes.  That is what Daenerys tells him.

Dany is gone, he knows that now, and so is Jon.

They are Daenerys and Aegon now.  That is what Daenerys tells him.

They are Nissa Nissa and Azor Ahai.  That is what the priestesses say.

\-----------

He is not allowed to be alone with them.

He does not ask why, because he knows the reason.

\-----------

A year passes, and he realizes he does not feel quite so empty anymore.

He has a family, now, though it be a strange one, and it is one he has made, that belongs to him alone.

He has a purpose, finally, and there is nothing left to him but serve it.

There is an egg, shining and enticing, laid before a roaring fire.

He is different here, now.  He is magic here.

He grasps the egg, and it begins to hatch.

\-----------

They are prisoners here.

In his fifth year she finally tells him, explains in a somber, quiet voice that stepping foot off that ship had effectively sentenced him to exile for rest of his days.  There is magic here that binds them, and they will never leave.  The Lord of Light is their Keeper, and they must serve his will now.

“We have never belonged to ourselves.  Our destinies have never been ours,” she whispers, as they watch their child summon flame from nothing in her cupped hands.

He hates this, but he cannot deny it.

When he asks what it has all been for, what purpose could be great enough for the suffering that it cost, she is silent for a long time, watching the daughter they’ve made between them.

When she answers, he hates it as well, but it is as true as any other words might be.

“Only death can pay for life.”

That night he goes to her, and she does not turn him away.  This is their fate, their destiny.  This is their prison.

And, whether it be for madness or greatness, he is hers for whatever is left of time.

They are gods now, and they cannot die, and his watch has ended.

Now he will live.


End file.
